


One Wizard to Bind Them

by ivegoneslightlymad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Elf Harry Potter, Gay, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegoneslightlymad/pseuds/ivegoneslightlymad
Summary: Five wizards were sent to Middle Earth to aid in the fight against Sauron. Two abandoned this duty, and so a replacement is needed. Enter Harry Potter, Master of Death.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 129





	One Wizard to Bind Them

'Do you think we could try St Pancras next time, you know, just for the sake of variety?'

He didn't get a response. Harry looked around the now familiar ghost-white platform.

'And maybe some clothes? I know it supposedly gives you an edge in negotiations if you keep me naked and vulnerable, but by now I'm half convinced you just want to see my cock.'

He couldn't quite conceal his surprise when he found himself suddenly dressed in a plain grey robe. He'd made the request before, and it had always been ignored.

'Will that do?'

'Uhh, yeah, thanks.' He answered, stiffening as the speaker emerged from the mist in front of him. He looked ordinary, as he always did; a random, average body clothing an immortal, immutable spirit far beyond any human ability to comprehend.

Harry endured the silence, the blank stare from those dark and empty eyes, for as long as he could bear.

'So…' he began, 'I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon.'

'In truth, I had not thought to make another approach at this time.' The words were flat, the voice carried by neither lips nor tongue, just appearing in Harry's ears.

'Okayy, so why are we here?'

'You were invited at my request.'

The second figure to come from the mist was anything but ordinary. He must have been close to seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and well muscled with it. He moved like a predator, a hunter on familiar territory, no matter how alien he and his outfit seemed in the confines of the Limbo King's Cross. His features were sharp and eerily androgynous, his hair long and an impossible silver in colour. His clothing was dark green and mud brown in a strange sort of camouflage pattern, archaic in style. The curve of a huge longbow arched up behind his shoulder and there was a long, bone-handled knife at his belt.

Harry returned the startlingly blue stare uneasily. Since he'd met his old headmaster and Voldemort's dying foetus all those years ago, he'd only ever encountered one other here, the other who was now examining him and the stranger with what looked suspiciously like amusement.

'Can I ask who you are?'

The…man? smiled slightly, and Harry noticed that he seemed to glow in the bright white light of the halfway place.

'In the old elf tongue I am known as Oromë, and in the new as Araw.'

'Elf tongue?' Harry asked, confused. 'Like house elves?'

'House-elf?' The man repeated, turning his mouth around the words. Harry realised suddenly that there must be some kind of translation spell in operation, doing its best to bridge the gap between their languages. 'An elf in a house? An elf of the city rather than the forest?' The stranger asked curiously.

Harry was about to try to explain when he was interrupted.

'House-elves are of no relevance.' The flesh puppet inhabited by Death declared. 'We are here to make you an offer.'

'I'd guessed as much,' Harry said drily, 'though it's the first time you've brought a friend.'

Death ignored him.

'How would you feel,' he began, 'about a new world?

Harry blinked

'A what?'

'Another life, a new beginning.' The stranger said. 'Perhaps a world more suited to your nature.'

'My nature?'

'The nature of the Firstborn. Those who do not age.' He clarified at Harry's frown.

'Consider this.' Death said. 'A world of souls not burned by time, unburdened by the stoop of years and failing mortal flesh. A land beyond the sea, protected from the endless griefs of parting.'

'What do you mean by a new world?' Harry asked suspiciously. 'I know of no other immortals, let alone a society of them.'

'You would not.' The stranger answered. 'It is a different…' here he frowned and tried a few words which magic seemed unable to translate, 'earth? Planet?' Came the eventual suggestions.

'You want to move me to another fucking planet now?' Harry asked Death, incredulous. 'I know you're desperate to get rid of me, but space travel and immortal aliens has got to be your least convincing argument yet.' He forcibly suppressed the memories of all the emotional manipulation he'd been subjected to over the years as Death attempted to persuade him to give up the Hallows and release his mastery over him. The passing of almost every friend he'd ever made had been an opportunity for Death to drag him to Limbo in his dreams and suggest that Harry join them… well, wherever they ended up. The nature of that place had never been made clear.

The stranger was frowning at him.

'Come,' he said, turning, 'and I will explain to you.'

He began walking away and didn't look to see whether Harry was following.

'I cannot lie to you.' Death reminded when Harry didn't move. 'And in this place, neither can he.'

'You can still deceive.' Harry replied sourly. 'Tell half truths and mislead.'

'I can.' Death acknowledged unrepentantly. 'But in this case I need not do so. It is an offer advantageous to both of us, and you would be a fool not to take it.'

Harry considered the words carefully.

'I will listen.' He began, eyes involuntarily turned in the direction the stranger had walked. He was now invisible, enveloped by the mist, but Harry could sense his presence just out of sight. 'But if I decline this offer….' He continued, 'then you will agree to make no further approach to me for a hundred years.'

'Done.'

Harry hid his shock at the immediate agreement.

* * *

'It's beautiful.'

The stranger, Oromë as Harry thought he'd called himself, turned his head with a faint smile.

'Thank you. I thought it easier to speak to you out here in the free air than beneath that great cage of iron.'

'What is this place?' Harry asked. Even wrought from the strange white fabric of Limbo it was breathtaking. A broad lake sprawled out in front of them, edged by a pale beech that ran into a forest of unfamiliar trees. The two of them were stood at the shore, ghostly water lapping at their feet.

'It was called Cuiviénen.' His companion replied. 'This is as it looked in the earliest days. It is here that the Awakening of the Elves, as it has become known, took place. The Firstborn. They were the earliest inhabitants of Middle-earth to possess both soul and flesh.'

'You say 'they',' Harry observed, 'as though you do not count yourself amongst their number. And yet you remember this place, for it is only you who can have brought its image here.' He found himself mirroring the other man's formal, slightly stilted idiom.

The head inclined in acknowledgment. His hair shifted to expose a long, pointed ear and Harry wondered just how far from human this creature was.

'Indeed, I am not one of them. My soul and spirit are not confined to earthly flesh, and neither time nor place can bind me. I am one of the Ainur, as we are known in the elvish tongues. We are the first and greatest of the creations of Eru, xe who is known as Ilúvatar. We were thought into existence to join and weave the immortal chorus, to aid in singing the fabric of Eä from the Void. We were given jurisdiction over this creation, and offered the chance to live within and play steward to our work.'

The words were softly spoken, reflective, for all that they made little sense to Harry. Something else was happening, he realised. He could feel the translation spell loosening its grip, fading in the space between them, and yet his comprehension remained. If he concentrated he could hear the strange, lilting sound of the original words and still somehow discern their meaning.

'We thought ourselves alone.' The… Angel? Spirit? God? continued. 'The Ainur, although natural divisions in our ranks had by that time split us into the greater and the lesser; the Valar and the Maiar. It was here, whilst hunting in the Forest of the Night, that I discovered those who would become our companions and followers.'

The milky water in front of them rippled and Harry watched as first one and then two, three figures emerged from the depths. They were tall, though not so tall as Oromë, and they shared his strange beauty. They were naked, two men and a woman, lithe and clean-limbed. Their image faded into nothing before they reached the shore.

'And we, the Valar, regained our hope, for one of our number had turned from us and torn the world asunder, taking dominion over the land of Middle-earth, where Cuiviénen lay…'

And Harry stood and listened, and tried to keep pace with a tale that spanned eons and civilisations and battles for the fate of a world. He struggled, for much of what was mentioned seemed alien to him, and Oromë did not tell his tale in a linear fashion, rather skipping between times and places and events as the connections occurred to him. Harry noticed, after what must have been several hours, that he did not feel fatigued standing there.

Eventually, after the elves and dwarves and (thank Merlin) men had fought their battles against the darkness and one another, Oromë turned to a subject that made the back of Harry's neck prickle.

'Learning that Melkor's most loyal lieutenant was gaining in influence, Manwë decided to send reassurance to the peoples of Middle-earth, and so he asked amongst the Maiar for volunteers to cross the sea and provide aid and counsel. Those chosen were known as the Istari, or Wizards in your tongue. There were five dispatched: Curumo, who would become Saruman; Olórin, who was given the name Mithrandir; Aiwendil, known as Radagast; and the friends Morinehtar and Rómestámo, who would be Alatar and Pallando.'

He paused.

'Three have performed valuable service, but two… two have wandered beyond our sight. I know they have not turned from us as Sauron did, for Morinehtar and Rómestámo were bound to my service and I would have sensed such a betrayal, but they have strayed, and I fear their dedication is no longer what it was. Our ranks have thinned, and the Sauron's strength has only grown, deeper and more rapidly than we had imagined.'

'Why don't you just send more of your servants, more of these Maiar?' Harry pressed suspiciously. He thought now that he had an idea where this conversation was heading.

If it had not been beneath his dignity, Harry thought Oromë would have sighed.

'There is a balance to these things.' He said. 'When we sent the Maiar into the East they were forbidden from using their powers to bend others to their will, from matching their strength directly against Sauron. Melkor has proved that almost all can be corrupted, under the right circumstances, and we feared replacing one tyrant with another. The Aratar have decided that to send others from amongst the Maiar would pose too great a risk.' He hesitated and gave Harry what looked like a wry smile. 'And yet, as I suspect you have identified, a problem remains. The peoples of Middle-earth are divided and unprepared. Should the coming war be lost… souls uncountable will die or be enslaved. The rescue of Middle-earth could not be achieved with anything less than an invasion on the scale of the War of Wrath, a conflict that left a continent beneath the waves.'

'And what solution do propose to this?' Harry asked coolly.

The expression that faced him was inscrutable.

'I have told you that Morinehtar and Rómestámo were my servants, and it is their absence that has upset the balance. As such, the task of redressing it has been set at my feet. I'm sure you have guessed by now that you are my solution.'

Harry turned away from the unbearable intensity suddenly burning in those eyes, eyes that were no longer blue and human, but colourless and crystalline, bright and unearthly as stars.

'Why me?'

There was a pause before the answer.

'I do not fully know.' The voice sounded surprised at the admission. 'This place—it truly does not allow one to lie.' He mused. 'I had thought to flatter you, but I see now that that will not be possible. A force beyond even my understanding brought me here, to this place, at this time, and set you before me. I have been allowed to see enough of your life to deem you fit for the task I would give you, but no more. All I know is that the immortal chorus desires your voice, and even I am but a servant to its will. The rest will become clear in time. You are the Chosen One, and that is all there is.'

Harry stiffened, a finger of rage tracing its way down his spine at the words. He'd been called that before, a long time ago.

'I am no longer the simple tool of fate I once was.' Harry informed the Vala coldly. 'Your "immortal chorus" will not take my will from me. My decisions are my own.' Privately, he wasn't nearly so certain, but if fate was determined to toss him around again then the least he could do was test its pull a little.

'Perhaps, and yet what is there for you there?' Oromë's head tilted in the direction of King's Cross. 'A world of men cursed to die, and only you to bear witness to the sorrow of their fate. A world you have withdrawn from for that reason, and which has no place for one such as you. You do not live, you merely exist.'

'Spare me the shit philosophy.' Harry bit out, crossing his arms defensively. 'Who are you to judge me?'

'I do not judge: only Eru can do so.' He paused. 'But I know that you do not belong where you are.'

* * *

It took three days, in the end. The decision that was to change everything. Three days of contemplation and doubt and, in the end, only one answer. With Harry's permission, Oromë returned to his dreams to talk to him, to explain this new world. Harry still wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't some trick of Death's to get him to hand over the Hallows, that he wasn't being sold on some fantasy. His trust was growing, though, and he could feel something in him, somewhere, yearning for this Middle-earth.

It took another week after the decision had been made from him to be ready. He'd sent letters to the few people he was still in touch with, none of whom he could really consider friends. His affairs had been settled with Gringotts: assets sold and wealth transferred into various charitable trusts. It had all felt weirdly final, like making arrangements for his own death. He supposed that wasn't too far from the truth. He didn't plan to take much with him. Oromë had informed him that anything that was't bound to him inextricably, by magic and blood, would be lost in the crossing.

* * *

It was to the Highlands of Scotland he was taken, a place not so many miles away from Hogwarts, where his life's journey had begun. It felt almost like an execution, standing next to Death on a windswept hillside in front of a crumbling arch of stone. It didn't murmur with the souls of the departed like the artefact in the Department of Mysteries, but he could feel the weight of magic in the air, almost intoxicating in its strength.

'The Hallows, if you please.'

Harry turned to Death and stared at his current avatar.

'You need only one to break my power over you. Take the ring.' He told him, pulling the cursed stone from his finger.

The empty eyes narrowed.

'That is not what was agreed.'

'Nothing was agreed, beyond my relinquishing my status. With one of the Hallows returned to your care and the remaining two removed from this world, you have no reason for concern.'

'Very well.' Death acknowledged eventually. 'Go, then, and slip my grasp a final time.'

Harry smiled, bowing his head slightly before turning to the arch. From a distance it had appeared to open merely onto the far side of the hill, but the pale sky and dry grass beyond faded as he approached. The gap filled with fog, darker and thicker than the mist of Limbo. He took one final look at the almost familiar landscape, remembering his days on a broom in the sun, and stepped out of the only world he'd ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you not familiar with London, St Pancras is a station just over the road from King's Cross (it's also a much prettier building).
> 
> Otherwise, please let me know what you thought!


End file.
